


5 Times Steve Made Tony a Sandwich (+ the time Tony returned the favor)

by betheflame



Series: Rose Garden [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Stony Bingo, Superfamily (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 22:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame
Summary: A 5+1 in the "Rose Garden" AU because I'm a sucker for a Tumblr ask.





	5 Times Steve Made Tony a Sandwich (+ the time Tony returned the favor)

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't admit this as much as I do, but if you ask me enough times to expand an AU, there's a high probability I'll do it because I love these wee worlds. 
> 
> This ticks a bunch of boxes:  
SteveTonySeptember  
CapSepTender  
Stony Bingo (Y1 - "No Sense of Humor")  
Happy Steve Bingo (Airports)  
Anon's ask on Tumblr  
Cap-IM Community Thank You Celebration 
> 
> If you _haven't_ read the main story, quick summary: Steve is/was POTUS, Peter's his kid (with Peggy, who died before the start of the story) and Tony is... himself. Bucky and Pep are together because I figured why not. Nat and Bucky work/worked for Steve in the White House. But honestly? Just read the first story. I think you'll like it.

**New Year’s Day 2024**

Tony would never, he didn’t believe, get used to the feeling of waking up in bed with Steve. There was something so… solid about him. Not just his body - which was solid and for which Tony was incredibly appreciative - but his very presence. No matter what chaos spun in Tony’s mind, waking up in bed with Steve calmed him. Even if he’d only stumbled to bed a few moments previously. 

He was getting better about that, though, he _swore_. 

Sometime in the previous evening, Steve had laughed loudly at something Bucky had said and Tony hadn’t been paying attention. 

_“What’s the face, babe?” Steve’s eyes twinkled. _

__

__

_“I don’t have a face,” Tony said in return from across the room._

_“Oh, you got a sour puss on ya,” Steve said, making sure his Brooklyn drawl was pronounced. “Wuddya say, Buck? My fella’s got a sour puss?”_

_“You’re insane,” Tony rolled his eyes._

_“Nah, you just ain’t got no sensa humor, Stark,” Steve winked._

Tony’s insides twisted a bit at the memory - he was gonna marry that man as soon as he could. He reached for his tablet, groaning at the slight hangover that was making his brain fuzzy. After Peter had gone to bed at 12:15, the adults had broken out the less-than-responsible levels of alcohol. 

“Wwehlfanadsfhas,” Steve moaned in the bed next to him. 

“Sorry, Mr. President,” Tony intoned. “I don’t speak neanderthal.”

“Fajwerasdf,” Steve huffed in response, and snuggled closer to Tony. “You speak nine languages.”

“And yet,” he kissed the top of his boyfriend’s head, “Hungover Welsh, which is what I think that noise was, is not one of them.”

“Happy New Year, Anthony,” Steve said softly. 

“Happy New Year, Steven,” Tony replied, taking his eyes off his tablet for a second to see Steve’s sleep rumpled hair. “It’s about 9:30, so my guess is that Mrs. Henderson has already been and gone with breakfast?”

Steve nodded, and Tony felt the movement against his ribs. The housekeeper for Steve and Peter’s brownstone had offered to come over that morning and deliver fresh breakfast sandwiches from her corner deli. Tony had previously informed Steve that he’d leave him for one of the everything bagels with egg, sausage, and cheese. 

“I’ll go check,” Steve said, stretching and rolling out of the bed in a motion that Tony had come to identify as one of the weirder things Steve did that would surely drive Tony insane in twenty years but right now was still endearing. 

“I’ll be right out,” Tony affirmed, making several swipes at his tablet and thus missed the fond but bemused look his boyfriend gave him. 

As far as Tony was concerned, Steve was back in about two seconds with food in hand. “I said I was coming right out!”

“It’s been twenty minutes and the bagels were getting cold,” Steve replied as he bit back a smile. 

“You brought me breakfast in bed?” Tony smirked. “Is this your audition for being my boytoy in a few years when you’re unemployed?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Stark,” Steve said, his voice faux-innocent. “Where’s this casting couch you need me to lay on?”

“Well, Mr… Rogers, is it? You look awfully wholesome to be corrupted so easily,” Tony quirked an eyebrow as Steve put down Tony’s coffee and sandwich on the nightstand. 

“I think you’ll be surprised at my developed skill set, Mr. Stark,” Steve licked his lips. Tony blinked a few times. 

“This is it, isn’t it,” Tony said back. “This is when you make me choose between you and the bagel.”

Steve nodded. 

“You know who wins.”

Steve nodded and kissed the top of Tony’s head. “I’ll be with everyone else who loves me more than breakfast food.”

“Their loss!” Tony called after him.

______________________

**October 2024**

“When is the last time you ate?” Steve peered at Tony as they waited for the StarkJet to finish refueling. 

“Yesterday? Maybe? I had nuts on the way here.”

The pair were on one of the final pushes of the Rogers/Wilson re-election extravaganza and were stealing a rare few moments completely alone in one of Tony’s private air hangers. 

“Nuts aren’t a meal,” Steve replied. 

“Yes, Mother, I’m aware, thank you,” Tony replied as he closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. “But I have a board meeting next week and we have to get you re-elected and Peter can’t crack his physics grade and there’s a lot happening. Nuts are portable.”

Steve snorted and Tony cracked an eye. “You’re twelve, Mr. President.”

Steve replied by taking out his phone. “Hey Buck, yeah, no, they’re refueling. Hey, who do we have local? Like a team? Uhhuh. Right. Can they get three pizzas to the Stark hanger in the next thirty? Great. The usual. Thanks, pal.”

“I never said I wanted pizza.”

“A: you always want pizza - even when you want a cheeseburger, you want pizza. B: I don’t give a fuck, you need food.”

When the pizza arrived, Steve took two slices and rolled them up together. He handed Tony the giant roll and smiled. “You are also always in the mood for sandwiches, so I figure we’ll do the best of both worlds here.”

“You made me a pizza sandwich,” Tony deadpanned. “By rolling two slices together like a bastardized calzone?”

“Yup.”

“My Italian ancestors are spinning in their graves.”

“Well, my Irish ones are too busy still being dead from the potato famine and would be thrilled to eat whatever anyone put in front of them.”

“Low blow, Rogers.”

“Eat your pizza, Stark.”

Tony glared at Steve, keeping eye contact as he took a deliberate bite and then nearly choked. He spit out the pizza into a napkin and started laughing. “Too much pizza, babe.”

“You can usually handle a lot in your mouth, so I thought it would be fine,” Steve said innocently. 

Tony threw a napkin at him as the pair dissolved in giggles. 

But by the time the plane was ready to take off, Tony had eaten actual food and Steve had managed to put his mouth to use for other purposes, and they were ready to tackle the next round of handshaking and baby kissing.

______________________

**June 2026**

“Dad,” Peter said cautiously, “what is the noise coming from Tony’s workshop?”

“Pete, in the last several years, I have learned to not ask,” Steve replied, not looking up from his book. “If Tony is bleeding, Jarvis will let us know.”

“But there’s a lot of yelling,” Peter replied. “More than usual.”

“It’s something to do with the trip you two are taking over to Dublin in a few weeks,” Steve replied. 

Without responding to that, Peter was off like a shot and ran down the hallway. Steve rolled his eyes and went back to his book. 

They were at Tony’s upstate New York cabin - the one he had his largest workshop at. He’d moved most of his truly innovative ideas out of the city after the kidnapping - afraid of anyone ever seeing enough to be dangerous ever again - and had a giant addition built onto the cabin to house the workshop. 

Steve loved coming because of the wrap around porch that he could read on, the quiet of the lake, and the fact that Tony had built him a secure communication area that meant he could run nearly any national crisis while wearing pajamas if he so needed. 

His boys loved it because this was where all their toys lived. 

About an hour after Peter disappeared, Steve heard his stomach rumble. Checking his watch, he noticed it was well past lunch time. He headed to the kitchen and assembled some sandwiches, knowing better than to call either Tony or Peter to leave the workshop to eat. 

“No, Peter, you need to-”

“Okay, but what if we -”

“No, I think, Jarvis, can you calculate the arc of that?”

“177 degrees, sir.”

“Thanks, okay, Peter if you-”

Steve smiled affectionately as he placed their lunches down on a table. Of course they hadn’t heard him come in - that would be silly. 

“Pete, Tony, lunch,” he said, raising his voice. 

“Great, Dad, thanks,” Peter replied, without looking at Steve. 

“Peter,” Steve replied, with a tone that caused Peter to look over quickly. 

“Oh, fine, turkey?” Peter slumped over to where his father was standing and grabbed a half of a sandwich. 

“And provolone,” Steve affirmed. “You too, honey.”

“I’m good,” Tony replied. 

“Yes, you are, very, and I love you, but you run on food not genius, so please come and retrieve your lunch,” Steve said calmly.

Tony raised his head and glared at his boyfriend, who fixed his face into the “Captain President” expression they all knew so well. “Fine.”

“I love you,” Steve said with a smile as he left the workshop. 

“Whatever,” Tony called back.

______________________

**December 2027**

“I hate him,” Tony said. 

“You’re not alone,” Steve called from the kitchen of the Residence. “Bucky and Nat would like him dragged behind a car, I think.”

“Well, they’re smart, babe, you should listen to them,” Tony glared at the face of the man on the television screen. Anderson Brockworst III (oh, and he was careful to make sure you knew it was the third whenever he spoke) was aiming to take Steve’s place as President. He was a pompous windbag with more money than sense and a truly terrible sense of fashion. 

Tony was petrified he was going to win. 

“I mean, I have all this extra cash lying around and Bucky has sniper friends who-”

“Not funny,” Steve called back. “We can’t joke about assassinating my enemies until at least next year.”

“Rule follower!” 

“Irresponsible rebel!”

Tony smiled. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m making grilled cheese.”

“You’re what now?”

Steve popped his head into the living room. “I’m making grilled cheese. It’s a blizzard, Peter’s with Bucky and Pep, we don’t have to be responsible adults, so I figured we could eat like kids and then go play in the snow.”

“You want to play in the snow,” Tony drawled. “Let me go check that with an agent.”

“Kwame knows the plan,” Steve affirmed. “But first, grilled cheese with Kraft singles and terrible tomato soup from a can.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

“Nope!”

“But what if I don’t want to play in the snow?” Tony got off the couch and wandered into the kitchen. He stood at Steve’s back and wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist. 

“Tough,” Steve replied, twisting to kiss Tony’s forehead. 

“Is this because I didn’t know what a snow angel was?”

“This is because as your President, I feel it is unconscionable that you have never built a snowman.”

“Okay, Anna, fine. We can build a snowman.”

Later that night, the White House released three photos of President Rogers and First Gentleman Stark playing in the snow and Peter laughed as he showed them to Pepper and Bucky. 

“Did you ever think my dad would be happy again, Uncle Bucky?”

Bucky smiled. “Well, kiddo, there are a lot of different kinds of happy. There’s the happy you bring him,” Peter rolled his eyes, “and the happy that we bring him as his friends and family. Then there’s the happy he gets from the satisfaction of a job well done - you know your father loves little more than making Speaker Anderson cry a little - but in terms of the person he was going to be with? No, I wasn’t sure.”

Peter looked back at his phone for a few seconds and then up at his godfather. “I was talking to MJ the other night about what ‘happy’ even is.”

“Oh, here we go,” Bucky dramatically sighed. He loved teasing Peter about his and MJ’s philosophical conversations. 

Peter glared at Bucky and continued. “I mean, I feel ‘happy’ a lot, I guess. I have a good life and a great family and MJ is finally letting me call her my girlfriend which is really nice, but ‘happy’ always feels like it’s just a short thing.”

Bucky stayed quiet, thinking he knew where the teenager was going, but wanting him to get there on his own. 

“What Tony does for Dad, how he makes Dad feel, how he makes me feel, those aren’t just moments, those are… I just didn’t know that someone could come into an already full and great life and make it even fuller and even greater. I didn’t know that it worked like that.”

Bucky smiled at the younger man. “Well, it’s it great that it does?”

Peter nodded and worried his bottom lip. “Dad looks like a doofus.”

Bucky laughed loudly. “Spoiler alert, spidey. Your dad is a doofus.”

______________________

**October 2029**

“But I don’t waaaaaaaaannnnnnnaaaaaaa,” Tony whined to his husband. “Please, please, please don’t make me.”

“Anthony,” Steve replied, not even bothering to look up from his book. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“But Steeeeeeeeeeeve,” Tony contiuned. “It huuuuuuurrrrrrtttssssss and I don’t waaaannnnaaaaaaaa.”

“The doctor said you need to start putting pressure on it, start moving it, so your knee doesn’t lock up.”

“But it hurrrrrtttsss.”

“Yes, I heard,” Steve’s tone had not shifted. He prided himself on being largely impervious to Tony’s whining. 

“But it reallllyyyyyyyyy hurrrrrtttssssssss.”

“Uhmhm, and I’m sorry, but I’m not the one who thought my many, many decades old body could climb up a ladder while also carrying an entire toolbox while not making sure the ladder was secure or alerting my husband that I potentially needed help in said venture.”

“You’re impossible, Steven,” Tony pouted and pulled out his phone. 

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if Postmates will deliver directly to the couch.”

Steve glared at Tony, who grinned angelically. “What? You can only suffer through my whining for so long until you get up and make me a sandwich and you know it.”

Steve held the glare for a few more beats before he threw up his hands. “Fine, what do you want?”

“Turkey and mustard on rye with one of those apples you got from the orchard last weekend and maybe an iced tea?”

“Crusts on or off,” Steve teased. 

“Do we have the rye with the seeds or without?”

“Um, I’m not sure. MJ finished a loaf for croutons on the salad this weekend, so let me check,” Steve’s voice drifted off as he went into their kitchen. He finally yelled to Tony that the bread was seedless and Tony replied then he wanted the crusts. It wasn’t his fault that some of the crusts on rye bread from their local bakery got a little burned. He wasn’t getting sensitive teeth. He was just protecting them. That’s all. 

Several moments later, Steve placed a tray - containing the sandwich, the apple, a small bowl of applesauce, and the iced tea - on the coffee table in front of Tony and handed him a small white pill. 

“No,” Tony said. “I don’t need it.”

“I can see from here that your knee is swelling again, you idiot. _Take the pill_.”

“No.”

“Anthony.”

“Steven.”

They glared at each other for a few seconds before Steve finally gave up and just put the pill down next to Tony’s glass. 

“I’m getting apples in two forms?” Tony clarified as he picked up the bowl of applesauce. 

“Well, the lady said it was probably only good for a few more days and we still have a ton, so yes.”

Tony took a spoonful and pulled a slight face. “Well, it’s going a little bitter, so we should probably eat it quickly.”

“Umhum,” Steve affirmed and returned to his book. 

It wasn’t until Tony was half-way through his sandwich that he looked at his husband. “You fucking bastard.”

Steve didn’t react but for a slight tinge of red at the top of his ears. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, babe.”

“You crushed the pain pill in the applesauce like I’m a child.”

“You were whining like one.”

“Steven.”

“Anthony.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Tony sighed. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too.”

______________________

**August 2031**

Tony was worried. 

Not that the feeling was anything _new_ \- Tony frequently worried that the sun would rise on time because it was possible the axis of the earth had been knocked over night by a force he hadn’t predicted - but he was rarely this worried about his husband. 

Post-Presidential life had been generally kind to them. Steve had a really hard first year - Tony had to routinely lock out news channels on Steve’s devices because he kept trying to intervene, which he wasn’t really allowed to do any longer. They’d hardly left their neighborhood for months because folks wouldn’t leave them alone - asking Steve for his thoughts on what President Fitzpatrick was doing or not doing. But it had settled. 

And then El Chappawhoever had shown back up. 

And if Tony’s PTSD started to flare, he figured Steve’s had to be going haywire. Using feeling words was neither of their strong suits, but at least Tony had done a few rounds of Pepper-mandated therapy and had a better handle on his own coping mechanisms. 

Steve just kept talking to punching bags about his feelings and Tony was getting a bit sick of finding bloody wraps in the trash. 

Tony’s breaking point came one morning in early August. President Fitzpatrick had asked Steve for some advice on dealing with the idiots they thought had gone away when Obie stopped funding them and had been in Washington for nearly two weeks. Steve arrived back at their Brooklyn house at 3am and Tony was still awake, tinkering in the garage. Steve had not even come to find him before going to sleep. 

That was a breach of husband protocol. They _always_ found each other in the house when they got home. _Always_. 

At 11am, Steve stumbled into the kitchen with eyes full of sleep and a head of hair that reminded Tony he needed to shove Steve towards a barber soon. 

“Good morning, stranger,” Tony replied mildly. “Are we re-growing the beard?”

Steve rubbed his eyes and headed straight for the coffee pot. “I forgot to shave for a few days and then I didn’t bring the fancy razor and only had that cheap one that cuts my face and so I said fuck it.”

“And, you know, you forgot that Amazon delivers everything by drone now?”

“You like the beard.”

“I like beard burn on my thighs, yes,” Tony admitted, “and fuzzy husband is one of my favorite versions, but this isn’t fuzzy husband, this is husband-not-taking-care-of-himself and that’s not my favorite.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Steve raised an eyebrow over the top of his coffee mug as he took a long sip. 

“Which is why I know of which I speak,” Tony said simply and kicked out the chair next to him. “Sit, babe.”

Steve complied and nearly collapsed onto the offered chair. Tony reached over and ran his hands through Steve’s hair, which caused Steve to shift a bit to lean his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“It’s bad, Tone.” Steve whispered. “They’re getting money, like obscene money, like more than you money, and they’re going to do so much damage.”

“And you’ll stop them,” Tony murmured. “Because my husband is wise, and passionate, and has done this before and even if Fitzy can’t find his ass with two hands and a flashlight, he was smart enough to call you and Nat and Carol and with all your minds, this will get stopped.”

“How can you be so sure? I mean, you’d just go in guns blazing and maybe that’s what we need.”

“How can I be so sure my husband is more of a badass than I am?” Tony smiled. “Because words are harder than guns. What’s the line - winning is easy, young man, governing’s harder?”

“Yes, thank you, General Washington,” Steve chuckled, but didn’t move his head. Tony kissed the top of it gently. 

“What do you need today?”

“You,” Steve whispered. 

“You have me,” Tony replied. “Now, how about you go lie on the couch and put on old episodes of _Great British Bake Off_ or something. I’ll be right in.”

Steve nodded and padded his way into their living room, leaving Tony alone in the kitchen. Once he heard the television kick on and the jaunty music that signaled that the bakers were in the tent, he got to work. 

“What’s this?” Steve asked a while later, when Tony came in carrying their food-out-of-the-kitchen tray. 

“Supplies,” Tony replied. “Two sandwiches - one turkey and one with that liverwurst bullshit - and a pile of those tater tots you like with the melted cheese and bacon, which yes, I fried fresh, I’m a bad cook not a heathen. And then I put the pinot you like in the fridge for later and I called Pete and he and MJ will be here for dinner because I know you said you need me, but what you really mean is him, too, so we’re all going to be together and I’m taking your phone now, too.”

Steve blinked at his husband and felt tears gather. To be this _known_ by someone was… unspeakable magic. 

“Thanks, Tony. That all sounds… wonderful.”

“I love you, Steven, even when you forget you can’t fight all the demons by yourself,” Tony smiled affectionately. “This is today’s version of picking up a sword.”

“It’s pretty fucking great,” Steve smiled. “I love you, too.”

The pair smiled and ate their sandwiches as Mel and Sue awarded that week’s Star Baker and Steve felt calm - just the littlest bit of it - sneak into his soul.


End file.
